Stepping out of the ranch house, Chris Larabee headed for the barn to feed the horses. As he crossed the open yard between the house and the corral, a strong gust of wind brought him up short. Cocking his head, he waited and listened to make sure he had heard what he thought he had. Then it happened again. Another gust of wind from the south blew past him and he was sure.
It carried on its' invisible wings a mournful sigh. Mary's sigh.
A sigh that had been so strong that it had traveled across time and distance. A sigh that spoke of loneliness and despair. A sigh that was meant for him to hear.
Going back to the house, Chris picked up the telephone and called the answering service. Identifying himself, he told the operator to send out a message to his list.
The message was simple. It was time.
Hanging up the receiver, the tall man dressed in black went into his bedroom and packed his gear. Doing so, he allowed his mind to wander to the person who had just called to him. He could see her in his mind's eye standing on the boardwalk, throwing her head back to laugh at something someone had told her before moving on. He watched the memory of her as she strolled down the familiar streets handing out papers, nodding a greeting or saying hello to those that passed her way.
He could picture the way she would look when they rode into town, dusty and tired from the ride but grinning from ear to ear at being back there. He could see her raising her hand to block the sun so that she could make sure none of them were injured. Lowering her arm once she was satisfied of their well-being, a smile to light up her entire face would be allowed to escape as she stepped to the very edge of the boardwalk to see each of them.
Even now, he felt himself begin to anticipate the feel her in his arms, the tickle of her hair on his face, the smell of lilac water mingling with her scent. Flipping the pouch closed, Chris smiled. It had been too long since he had experienced that. It was definitely time to head back. Tossing the saddlebags over his shoulder, he settled his black stetson on his head and again headed for the barn.
Throwing his saddle on the back of his black gelding, he heard the first vehicle pull into the gravel drive. By the time he had pulled the cinch tight, another vehicle arrived. Then another and yet another. Soon he was joined in the barn by six men, all quietly moving to saddle their mounts.
Leading his horse out of the barn, he loosely wrapped the reins over the hitching post before moving back to the house. Selecting the gunbelt holding his colt from the cabinet, he strapped it on before locking the door and hiding the key back in the bookcase. Pulling his ATF badge out of his back pocket, he slid the federal shield along with his cell phone into the desk drawer, and slowly pushed it closed. He would not need them for awhile. Not until he came back.
Pausing to take one more look around the quiet house, he stepped smartly across the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him, making sure it was secure before stepping away. Moving back to his mount, he ran appraising eyes over the other men who were now waiting on their horses. All where dressed in western clothing. Guns strapped to their sides. Hats on their heads. It seems, they too, had been waiting for this moment.
Nodding to them, the tall man swung up and spurred his horse southward.
They were going to a sleepy little western town known as Four Corners.
They were going home.
the end
3/2000
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